Right now all I can think about is the PAIN from the tooth. Although, Alfafa had it right in that photo in yesterday’s post, because the ice is helping. Either that or having my neck all crickety and the freezer burn on my face is distracting me from the PAIN.
I am not a wuss when it comes to pain. Seriously. A lesser woman would have gone to the dentist months ago. But lazy + high threshold of pain sometimes can equal asinine levels of stupidity. Because last Thursday when dentist said I NEEDED TO COME IN RIGHT AWAY, I told her to step off because I already have next Thursday off. And I prefer to do these things on days off. Since I want to be model employee. Makes me harder to fire. That I’d go through all this PAIN and DISCOMFORT to continue to plug away at work.
And now, she is laughing at me. And will be laughing at me tomorrow when I go in for my cleaning that I scheduled six months ago. Because, no, I don’t enjoy going to the dentist that much. And I don’t know why they only schedule root canals on Thursdays. Probably because, as Lela said, they are boring and my dentist must have a smaller attention span than me. And when I go Wednesday I’ll be sure to ask them to stab a drill in my eye socket and turn it on high to distract me from the PAIN in my tooth. And jaw. And now it is kind of making my ear hurt because all that shit is connected.
But I’m totally making them give me something stronger than Advil. Because the Advil? It has stopped working. It takes the pain down to a dulling sensation for about two and a half hours after I take it. And then because I’m addicted to Advil and my body has gotten used to it, at about hour 3 into the four tablets, it STOPS WORKING. And I end up sitting on the couch with an ice pack on my face, Googling the side effects of taking Advil every three hours instead. And then, as we all know when you ask Dr. Google, you are then diagnosed with a slow, painful, stomach-shredding, liver-falling-out death. Because you’re only supposed to take 6 Advil in a day.
And then I fell off the couch. Half laughing and half hyperventilating from the death sentence. Because I had six Advil before lunch. And because my stomach lining and I have become such good friends in the last 30 years. I am good to my stomach lining. I give it all sorts of good things like pizza and beer and wine and burritos. And I have never once threatened it with stapling. We have a good relationship.
And this is all I can focus on until I go under the drill on Thursday. And on top of it someone died on Monday after going to the dentist for a root canal. DIED. You think I am JOKING. But no. I am fate’s BITCH because this woman DIED! DIED! DIED! And the headline specifically said she died from a ROOT CANAL. Because I was not clearly freaked out enough. Hope you’re having a good laugh fate. You’ll get yours. But now I know why they say “fate is a bitch.” Because she is.
I’m sure tomorrow’s headline is going to be “Eleventy people die from taking Advil every three hours. Which is NOT HOW IT IS PRESCRIBED.”
Other than that, I have a few other things to share. I’m sure there were more, but the pain has made it hard to remember anything other than the last time I took more Advil that I shouldn’t have taken. ONLY SIX PILLS IN A DAY.
I had to go to the gas station yesterday to get some windshield wiper fluid. Because I ALWAYS run out on the day after the big snow when all the slush and yuck is splashing up onto your windshield. The clerk checking me out asks “do you live in the neighborhood?” Which I think, “that’s an odd question, but I’d imagine I’d be looking to make conversation if I was trapped in a plexiglass booth all day. Unless you’re the Pope.”
So I tell him that yes, yes indeed, I do live in the neighborhood. I am so awesome for supporting local businesses. Except for gas because you’re just raping people at those prices.
And then he says probably the only thing I DIDN’T figure him saying. He asks “why haven’t you invited me over for Christmas then?”
First thought: Is that the cab driver that I gave my number to when I was drunk and ignored all his calls? Jenquiz or whatever weird-ass name he had?
Second thought: …
I had no second thought. People that I actually KNOW don’t invite themselves over. How do you go from living in the neighborhood to me inviting you over for Christmas?
I ran through the door like Wyle E. Coyote, leaving a KJ cutout in the glass door. Which took quite a few stitches to repair.
Needless to say, I won’t be going to that gas station ever again.
Why is the post office selling Jesus stamps? I get Christmas is Jesus’ supposed birthday, even though it was really in the summer, but those red suits on fat men in the heat aren’t a good idea. But in the spirit of the PC world we live in, why are you shoving religion down my throat, USPS? And of course that’s the only Christmas stamps you’re going to have left because no one but my Grandma wants Jesus stamps.
I’m sending out holiday cards. Because, shocking! I know people who don’t celebrate Christmas. And I don’t much appreciate the fact that the United States Postal Service is shoving Jesus down my throat. Next year I’ll go with the flag.
I’m sure George Bush and his crazy right-wing asshats are behind this.
And no, I have no idea why Jesus stamps cause such a reaction in me. I’ll blame it on the PAIN. And the Advil overdose.